


Sweets for a Sweet

by sharpshooting



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Cooking, Denial, F/M, Future Fic, Pining, Voltron Secret Santa 2017, by like a few years lol, lots i'm sure, what more could you want??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 01:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13066059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharpshooting/pseuds/sharpshooting
Summary: In which Hunk cooks, and Pidge hangs around because she's a good friend, you know? No biggie.





	Sweets for a Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is gonna post to tumblr on the 26th (which is more-or-less when it takes place in-universe), but I saw the collection was open and i couldn't help myself. Merry early Christmas, theguineapig3!

They got Hunk food for Christmas.

They always did, ever since they'd found a way to start tracking how much time passed on Earth while they were in space and figuring out when Christmas actually was, but this 'year' was special because not only did they get Hunk _food_ , they found him _Earth_ food—and a lot of it, too.

The supply lines were a gift from the coalition, who'd set up a smuggling operation when they'd found out that, not only were the paladins from the same planet, but that they no longer had access to said planet's commodities. It was a gesture that had touched the whole team, but Hunk especially. He'd actually cried upon receiving their first shipment.

(Pidge herself might've been more impressed if the first crate she'd opened hadn't been full to the brim with roasted peanuts, but that was neither here nor there. Hunk was happy, and that was all that mattered.)

"Okay, but listen, Pidge," Hunk was saying over the hiss of the frying pan, "peanuts' greatest _strength_ is that they're dry. They're stable! Aaand hearty. They're very hard to screw up in the kitchen!"

Pidge did have to hand it to him: the room smelled _amazing_. That was why she was spending her day-after-Christmas sitting on the kitchen counter and fiddling with her communicator instead of sitting on the wing of her brand new cruiser and fiddling with its fuel lines.

"They stick in your throat," she protested en route, not really paying attention to the conversation as she turned the smooth casing over in her hand, thumbing the lock with the magnetic key that was set in the joint of her glove. "Anyway, I like them when they're in other stuff. Just not the dry-roasted ones."

"Wait, so peanut butter cookies...?"

"Love 'em."

_"Awesome."_

Pidge snorted a giggle at Hunk's audible grin, only to pause when he crouched by the thermal output, squinting over the rim of the pan and holding up one open palm for absolute silence.

Pidge obediently quieted down.

After a few seconds, he apparently found what he was looking for and grabbed a bottle of honey, dosing his creation with an artist's flair. Thick ropes of amber syrup were quickly followed by a scattering of sesame seeds, which barely had time to land before they were tossed into Hunk's seared cacophony of meat and vegetables with a neat few flicks of the pan.

Pidge felt her mouth tug into a smile as she turned back to the gadget in her hands, fondness and peace tucked around her heart like a fuzzy throw blanket.

(Reason number two to hang around the kitchen between missions: Hunk always made for good company, but especially when he was in his element.)

They worked together in silence, Hunk on his five-star meal and Pidge on her communicator's range, and Pidge had just closed the casing back up when a spoon was thrust in front of her face.

"Taste this," Hunk commanded, frowning at the pan. "Does it need salt?"

Leaning forward, Pidge took the bite.

Whatever Hunk had made, it was sweet and salty and spicy, meat juices flooding her mouth and something with a distinctly peanut-y texture crunching between her teeth as she bit down.

It was _blissful._

Pidge held up a vague 'okay' gesture as she took her time chewing, resisting the urge to rush through for fear of missing out on this delicious morsel, humming her delight.

Reason number three she kept hanging around? The food was _amazing._

"Good, right?" Hunk said smugly, retrieving the spoon. He then went back to frowning at the mess. "I just think it's missing something... Oh."

Pidge looked up, sensing that the words were directed at her.

"You've got a little something..."

A large, warm hand cradled her chin, the faint callouses on Hunk's thumb making her skin tingle as they swiped through a drop of sauce at the corner of her mouth. Pidge swallowed a squeak, feeling herself flush under the weight of his attention.

"Got it," Hunk said, and then he was letting go of her and bustling back up to his meal prep, absently sticking that thumb in his mouth and tossing his frying pan once again.

Pidge clapped her hand to the spot, cheeks _burning_ as she sank behind her communicator and desperately tried to pretend they weren't.

(There were a few reasons past the first three why she kept coming back, but they were stored behind that one mental blackout curtain titled _Things Pidge Does Not Think About For The Sake Of Her Sanity_ , right between 'these five people may be the last humans you'll ever see' and 'the contents of Coran's nutritional goo' and 'just how many people have _died_ because you got there minutes too late?'

A misbegotten crush on a kind boy with big hands wasn't nearly the biggest of the issues her future therapist was going to have to unpack, but it was inconvenient and embarrassing and she'd _eat circuitry_ if Hunk thought of her as anything other than a little sibling, so under its rug it stayed.)

Hunk captured another portion of the stuff with the same spoon he'd used to feed her and stuck _that_ in his mouth, too, and Pidge slid even lower down the wall, like that might let her slide right under the intrusive thought of _indirect kiss._

She wasn't some cutesy anime chick, and she _refused to become one._

"...It's done," Hunk pronounced, his gravitas befitting of a king. "Grab that platter, will yo—..." To her horror, he did a little double-take, stopping to actually look at her. Much more gently, he asked, "...Are you okay?"

"Fine! Fine. Just _fine."_

Pidge was not fine.

Hunk, to her utter humiliation, seemed to be able to _see that._

She wondered if it was her three-alarm blush or her smile-aching face that gave her away.

"Anyway, platter, right? Right. I got you, big guy—" _Bad wording bad wording **bad wording** —_ "—so let me just... go set the table!"

Dodging Hunk's concerned gaze, Pidge fled the kitchen.

* * *

Dinner happened with minimal incident.

Hunk, being Hunk, didn't try to chase her down. If anything, he just contented himself with the occasional worried glance across the table, for which Pidge was forever grateful.

Leaving the dishes to Keith and Lance, she got in some quality time with her cruiser's fuel lines, calmed down, and had just about everything under control by the way she made her way back to her room.

(No feelings here, nope, no siree, just a healthy, normal level of affection for a fellow associate. Everything was back in its proper box. Pidge had this in the _bag._ )

She was met with a covered plate of peanut butter cookies set right inside her door, and a note resting on top.

> _Pidge,_
> 
> _Sorry you weren't feeling well. I whipped these up after you left. Coran's got medicine in the medbay, and you can always talk to me, if you need someone._
> 
> _Hope you feel better soon. ♥_
> 
> _Hunk_

Pidge set the plate and it's delicious burden down on her desk with a tiny _click_ , and then pressed her hand over her cheek, the place where Hunk had touched her earlier now tingling up a storm.

...Aw _heck._


End file.
